


Stay With Me

by DMDumouchel



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, I'm kind of making this up as I go, I'm probably going to write this story in both eren and levi's pov's, Lots of it, M/M, also angst, btw this fic is going to have heavy implications of reincarnation and stuff so be aware of that, but also be gentle pls, so I'm not sure what other AoT characters will be included in this story yet, starting with levi, this is my first time writing a fan fic so constructive criticism is welcome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 06:46:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5280764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DMDumouchel/pseuds/DMDumouchel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Levi has been stricken with grief ever since the loss of his mother. It isn't until Eren Jaeger, a bright-eyed college student, enters his life, that Levi starts to believe things could get better.</p><p>It isn't long, however, before Levi and Eren realize happiness never lasts forever. Strange occurrences become less and less easy for them to ignore. Levi starts having dreams of a past life, and every day, he feels more drawn to the ocean...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay With Me

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooo. This is my first fic! And I'm a little nervous about it. But I enjoyed writing the first chapter. Like I said in the tags, I'm kind of making this up as I go, so I'll see where this takes me.

I'll never forget the day my mother took my hand and guided me out into the sea.

The deeper we went, the more I struggled to keep my balance in the sway of the rolling waves. I kept asking my mother to stop. I was afraid that we'd be carried away by the sea if we went any further. “Don't worry,” my mother had assured me. “Just keep holding my hand.” So I did. My small fingers were intertwined with hers, so tightly our skin could have been sewn together. Part of me truly believed that if I let go, she'd be swept away.

By the time we stopped, I could barely keep from going under. My body swayed with each wave. This was the furthest I’d ever gone. My mother kept assuring me that I'd be fine, that she wouldn't let the waves swallow me up.

I believed her.

When the next wave came, I went under. For a few moments, the sea was all I knew, all I could feel, and all I could taste; water lashed against me and filled my nose and mouth, threatening to fill my lungs. My mother’s strong grasp hurt my wrist as she pulled me up, and then I felt the air fill my lungs as I coughed and spluttered and tried to breathe.

After she had helped steady me, I looked up at her face, framed by long tresses of dark midnight hair that whipped about in the razor-sharp wind.

My mother was a powerful woman. If she had told me she could control the temperament of the sea with a touch of her finger, or a flick of her wrist, I would have believed her.

She wasn’t afraid of the sea. She knew it well.

As long as I held her hand, I would be alright.

*** 

"Hey, are you alright?"

The unfamiliar voice pulls me away from my thoughts, and I look up to see the concerned face of a bright-eyed teenager, standing there in the warm glow of the summer evening.

"...yeah. I'm fine."

The teen tilts his head slightly to one side, studying me curiously.

"You don't seem fine to me."

"..."

I turn away, opting not to respond to that. I expect him to feel discouraged and walk away, but rather than retreating footsteps, I hear the rustle of his clothes and the scrape of his shoes on the pavement as he sits down next to me.

"D'you go to this beach a lot?"

I shoot him an incredulous look. What's this kid’s problem?

"Are you always this inquisitive? Or do you just like asking me questions in particular?" My tone is cold and unapologetic. I don't feel like playing nice.

His sea-green eyes widen slightly, but only for a moment.

"You've got a sharp tongue," he remarks, his voice laced with laughter. His laugh is like a flame - warm, bright, and uncontrollable. And infectious.

Dangerously infectious.

I breathe in deeply before letting out a defeated sigh. I'm not really in the mood for arguing, although he, whoever this brat is, is really asking for it.

I look him up and down, trying to figure out what he wants from me. He's wearing red high top sneakers, faded worn-out jeans that are ripped at the knees, and a Grateful Dead t-shirt. A red and black plaid shirt hangs lazily on his shoulders, unbuttoned and rolled up at the sleeves. His bright sea-green eyes contrast with his dark skin tone, and his chocolate-brown hair is untamed and windswept. My gaze drifts up to rest on his face, and my eyes lock with his for a lingering moment. In that moment, I finally realize what he wants.

He just wants someone to talk to.

"Yeah," I say after a period of silence.

His eyes are alight with curiosity, and his upper body is turned towards me so that he's facing me, giving me his full attention as he waits for me to continue.

"...yeah, I go to this beach a lot."

"So you like it here, huh?"

"I suppose I do," I murmur, smiling slightly as old memories come to mind.

When I was a kid, my mother would hold my hand as she and I walked along the shore of the beach together. Every once in awhile, she would stoop down and pick up seashells to add to her collection. I'll always remember her smile when she lifted her skirt to wade in the water, and the sound of her laugh when we chased each other in the sand. Her hair fell about her shoulders and trailed after her in the wind as she ran, almost as though she had wings. She was most beautiful when she was free.

I look up and realize how dark it's gotten. The night sky is littered with stars, as if specks of silver dust had been scattered across a black canvas.

I glance at the teen sitting beside me, and hope it's too dark for him to see the tear stains on my cheeks. I clear my throat while I try to think of what to say, but he speaks before I can. I’m grateful for it.

"The sky is really beautiful at night. Sometimes I feel like I could just stare at the stars for hours.”

“Yeah,” I say softly, looking up at the sky again. “Not bad.”

“I could show you the constellations, if you want," he murmurs after a few moments of silence.

"Sure.”

"Well," he begins, excitement brightening his voice as he scoots closer to me. "That one over there is Orion's Belt." He leans forward, tracing the outline of the constellation with his outstretched hand.

I listen to him tell the stories behind the constellations as he connects the stars with his fingertips. The clouds part to reveal a full moon, spilling moonlight into the sea and lighting upon the face of the enthusiastic stargazer, whose eyes are shining with starlight, untold stories, and endless possibilities. For a moment, as I look at his face, I feel the pain fade away just enough for me to feel at peace. When I look up to the stars after hearing their stories, I find meaning in them, and I feel something.

Feeling something is far better than nothing at all.

"What about the moon?" I ask, gesturing towards it.

"The moon? There's tons of stories about the moon. Like 'Buried Moon', for instance."

I raise an eyebrow. "'Buried Moon'?"

"'Buried Moon' is a fairy tale," he begins, delighted that I had prompted him to continue. " - in which the moon is personified as a woman who comes down to earth draped in a black cloak. She loses her way in a bog, and the evil creatures of the night drown her in a lake by burying her beneath a large stone. Because of this she can no longer light the way for people lost in the bog."

"Does anyone save her?"

"Oh, yeah. Something like that. I forget the details. But that's not the interesting part," he says, waving his hand dismissively.

"Tch." I'm more disappointed about not finding out how the story ends than I'm willing to admit.

He laughs, and the warm sound of it seems to reach up into the sky, and fill the empty vastness surrounding us.

"So, you like fairy tales?" I ask after a pause.

"I take interest in them. I'm studying folklore in college, actually."

"Is that your major?"

"Nope."

"What is, then?"

"Undecided."

Undecided. I already chose my major, but the truth is, I'm undecided too, about a lot of things. My future, however, isn't one of them. That's already set out for me; the path is paved and waiting for me to set foot on it. I don't have much of a choice when it comes to my future, nor do I have any control over what happens to me or what I become. There's a small part of me, a desire, to stray from the path, but the rest of me knows unrealistic hopes and ideals will never become reality, and it's better to face what's real now before I become too attached to what isn't and never will be.

If I strayed from the path, I'd have nowhere to go. Diverging from the path is dangerous.

But more often than not, I crave danger. And sometimes, I wonder if danger is better than safety.

The teen next to me crosses his legs and does an intake of breath before letting out a prolonged sigh. "I don't know what I want to be yet, but I know whatever I choose to do has to make me happy. It has to be something I love doing. Otherwise, what's the point?"

I look at him and see someone who's neither safe nor dangerous, but rather, someone who's hopeful and brimming with possibilities.

I envy him more than words can say.

"Aren't you...scared?" I ask quietly. My words are almost drowned by the waves crashing on the shore.

Silence stretches between us.

"Of what?"

"Everything. Of living, of dying. Of nothing being in your control. Of losing someone. Of being left with nothing to hold onto."

"Are you afraid of those things?"

"...sometimes."

'Sometimes' is a lie. There isn't a moment in my life that I'm not scared of those things. But I don't tell him that.

"I don't think there's much point in being scared," he says, uncrossing his legs as he leans back to gaze at the stars above him. "You can't let fear dominate you. If you do, you'll get stuck. You have to keep moving forward. Whatever happens, happens."

Whatever happens, happens. But I don't want whatever happens to happen. What I want is some shred of control to hang onto.

"You can't let what happens sway you, though," he continues, his eyes bright as he gazes at the stars. "You have to fight. I believe in fighting for your dreams. If you fight, you'll win. If you don't fight, you'll lose."

I look down to the sea, the stars too bright for my taste. I don't feel like stargazing anymore. It's a reminder of how small and insignificant I am. It's a reminder of how little control I have over anything. And it's a reminder of all the things I've lost.

The newfound sense of peace I had gained from hearing the stories behind the constellations is gone, and all I feel now is dread. I dread the day his dreams are ripped away from him, and I dread the day he realizes fighting can't get you everything, because when that happens, he'll become like me. Sometimes, no matter how hard you fight, you still lose in the end.

His eyes are bright with hopes for the future, blissfully unaware of how cold and unforgiving the world can really be. It would be cruel to shatter his illusion. So I let him keep his dreams. I wouldn't have the strength to carry the weight of crushing his dreams on my shoulders, and I couldn't live with myself if I had to watch the hope fade from his eyes, knowing it was because of me he lost what he had to live for.

But then, a part of me wonders if letting someone believe in an illusion is worse. He'll only become more attached to his hopes and dreams the longer he believes in them, and it will only be more painful when they're taken away.

But who am I to deny him happiness? Perhaps the fact it won't last is all the more reason for him to enjoy it to the fullest while he has it.

Everything comes with a sacrifice. You can grow attached to hopes and dreams and live in a haze of misguided happiness until reality comes crashing down and crushes them, or you can wake up and stop dreaming before you start believing in the dream a little too much, and live, if you can call it that, the rest of your life a lesser version of your past self.

Either way, you can't win.

"What do you think?"

I turn to him, slightly taken aback by the sudden question. "What do I think?"

"What's your take on life?"

"...I don't think I have much freedom to choose what I do in life."

"So you believe in destiny?"

"No," I shake my head, the corners of my lips curling up into a bitter smile. "I don't believe in destiny, or fate, or any of that. I just think we have very little control over what happens to us. There are outward forces, maybe not supernatural or inhuman forces, but there are things in life that can hold you back. It's impossible to have complete control over your own life, because you can't prevent other people from affecting you and getting in the way. That's my take on life."

"I think you can fight whatever's holding you back. You can take control of your future. You've just gotta face your enemies and fight back."

"You can't always win, though," I say softly. "Sometimes the enemy's too strong to fight."

"I think it's worth a try. I'd rather die trying than not put up a fight."

"Listen to us," I say, my voice almost breaking into a laugh. "Talking about life's problems as if they were actual monsters."

I wish they were actual monsters. At least then I could see my enemies.

"Monsters can't always be seen. I've had my share of monsters, and I can say without a doubt that the ones we can't see are the most terrifying."

I know just what he means. My enemies can't be seen, and that makes them all the more terrifying.

My enemies whisper doubts and insecurities that haunt me until I feel like I'm being destroyed from the inside out. My enemies live inside me, burning beneath my skin and poisoning my brain until I feel like I'm going insane and trying to breathe is all I can do to keep from screaming.

“I don’t feel like stargazing anymore.”

I shift my weight and stand up. He looks up at me, his eyes wide with surprise and a hint of disappointment.

“Oh...ok.”

I turn away from the stars and the sea and walk towards the lights of the city, where the stars can no longer be seen.

“It was nice talking to you!” He shouts as I walk away.

Yeah, I guess I liked talking to him too.

**Author's Note:**

> Let the trash begin.
> 
> btw I am absolutely terrible at writing summaries, I promise to improve it later lmao.


End file.
